


The Games Agents Play

by Graculus



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: F/M, Fucking Machines, M/M, Multi, Napoleon Solo's Apron, OT3, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sexual Roleplay, Shameless Smut, Spanking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-12
Updated: 2015-10-17
Packaged: 2018-04-20 09:37:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4782590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Graculus/pseuds/Graculus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Things are going quite well for our Special Agents, but that doesn't stop Napoleon having a few ideas that the others might like...</p><p>Chapter 1 was written for <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/collections/ApronFest">Apron Fest</a>.</p><p>Chapter 4 was inspired by a prompt on <a href="http://kinkfromuncle.dreamwidth.org/640.html?thread=30080#cmt30080">the UNCLE kinkfest</a>.</p><p>I'll try and tag appropriately, but please let me know if you think I've missed anything obvious! Not so much a WiP as a series of stories set in the same rough timeline (though not necessarily in this order!).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Honey, I'm Home!

The bed hadn't been his idea. When he first rented the apartment, it had already been furnished with a number of items left behind by the previous tenant and this monstrosity of a bed had been one of them. He'd bought a new mattress, when he'd found somewhere that stocked the size he needed, but now he could only bless the fact that someone couldn't be bothered to take it with them when they moved out. 

It had seen some action, one way or another, but Napoleon had never thought he'd need sufficient space for three, let alone a bed that was robust enough to deal with what they put it through on a regular basis. Not that he was complaining! Even if Illya was a cuddler, so he'd wake and find the Russian clinging onto him in the morning even if they'd gone to bed separately that night. And Gaby was another matter completely, grabbing as much of the covers as she could possibly manage or curling up in the middle of the two of them if she felt like it. Either was good, unexpectedly so. 

Still, there was always room for improvement, Napoleon decided. He was currently pinned to the bed by Illya's weight as he watched the first rays of light come through the window. One arm was resting across his chest and while he could have escaped if he wanted to, Napoleon found that he quite liked the idea that he was so very much _Illya's_ that he wanted to hang onto him this way. Not that Illya would admit anything so emotional in the cold light of day, that was part of the enjoyment of it all, that contrast. 

Elsewhere in the apartment, a door closed. Neither of them responded, knowing who it was - sometimes, if she was up this early, Gaby would make them breakfast and that was usually a good thing. Unless she got distracted, in which case a strong smell of burnt toast ought to be coming their way quite soon. 

"You are thinking very loudly," Illya said. His face was turned away and the words were mumbled so Napoleon had to work them over in his mind before he could be completely certain what he'd said. "Stop it."

"Oh, am I disturbing you?" Napoleon smirked as his words were followed by a slight tightening of Illya's grip, his hand curling over Napoleon's collar bone as if ensuring he didn't make a break for it. "I guess I should leave you to it." 

He made an abortive move, to which Illya responded, as he had expected would be the case - Illya pushed himself up from the bed, turning to face Napoleon for the first time and also pressing down on him, making sure he didn't actually leave. Not that he had any intention of moving right now, even though he was much more awake than he ever wanted to be at this time of the morning.

"Running away, Cowboy?" Illya asked. He had moved across the bed a little, their faces close together. "Bored with us already?"

"Well, now that you mention it," Napoleon began, before Illya's mouth was on his, swallowing whatever he'd meant to say next. By the time they'd finished, it took him a moment to remember what it was. 

"I have an idea," Napoleon said, one hand holding Illya back as he seemed determined to interrupt again. While he didn't object in principle to what Illya was doing, he'd really like to get a complete sentence out before he let the Russian have his way. "I think you'll like it."

\----------------------------------

He'd just about done everything he wanted to do, Napoleon decided, glancing up at the clock. Illya should be back any time now, given his usual route from the office to Napoleon's apartment and accounting for rush hour - he'd asked one of the secretaries to give him a heads up when the Russian left for the day and she'd called a little while ago.

A couple of finishing touches were still required; casting an assessing eye over the steaks he had ready, Napoleon crossed to the bar and assembled everything he would need. Ice, of course - he returned to the kitchen, listening for the sound of the apartment door opening as that would be his cue. 

"How was your day, honey?" he asked, a few minutes later, when Illya came into the living room. "Here, let me get you a drink."

Napoleon turned on his heel, aware of the absolute silence that had greeted his words, and doubly aware of Illya's astonished stare as he crossed back to the bar. 

"You are..." Illya said. "Where are your clothes?"

Napoleon glanced down at himself, as if surprised at the question, but carried on fixing them both martinis. 

"I was trying for a slightly more domestic look," Napoleon said, then brushed one hand casually down the side of his apron, thus avoiding the place where it tented slightly at the front. "Don't you like it?" He considered throwing in a small pout to emphasise the question but decided against it - there was such a thing as overegging the pudding, after all. 

He crossed back to where Illya was still standing and handed him a glass; Illya took it, still looking like he was on autopilot, his eyes wide. Napoleon couldn't help smirking, this was all going perfectly to plan. 

"Besides, it's so _warm_ today."

His hand was resting at the top of the apron and flapped it a little, drawing Illya's eyes down to his chest. The movement also emphasised once more that Napoleon was completely naked under the apron, a fact which every movement reminded him, the cotton brushing against the tip of his penis. He didn't need to look down to know that the material was tenting out more, the more he moved or even thought about moving, let alone what might happen next. 

"Oh, I think my ties are coming loose," Napoleon continued, still studying Illya's reaction. The Russian hadn't spoken since his statement about Napoleon being naked, but just looked at him as if he expected Napoleon to vanish in a puff of smoke. "Would you be a dear and check for me?"

Putting his martini glass down, Napoleon turned so that his back was to Illya, fully aware of what a picture he presented - the apron had been long enough in the front to reach his knees, though the thickness of the material had hidden nothing about how interested he was in Illya being there. The back, well there was nothing to it but the place where the ties met, the long ends of them draping down till they just about met his buttocks, falling between them like Napoleon had planned it. Like they were pointing the way, Napoleon thought, if Illya needed any more guidance in the matter!

Behind him, he heard an indrawn breath and a clink of glass on wood. At least Illya had been aware enough to put down his glass as well, which meant at least one stain he wouldn't need to have cleaned from the carpet. 

"They are fine," Illya said, his voice suddenly close by Napoleon's ear. " _You_ are fine," he continued, and suddenly his hands were there, slipping between apron and skin, pulling the two of them together. "I think I like this game."

Maybe they should have made it to the bedroom first, Napoleon thought - the difference in their heights didn't matter so much when they were all lying down, but here it meant that he could feel Illya's interest in him, except it was pressing into the small of his back instead of where it could do Napoleon any good. Not that this was stopping Illya from rubbing against him, though he was clearly getting more out of this than Napoleon was. 

"You are waiting for me to get here," Illya said, his accent thickening slightly as he spoke. His hands were exploring Napoleon's body too, one slipping down to cradle his balls and the other across his chest, keeping them close together. "Wanting me to be here." He took a step forward, then another, Napoleon going with him - not that he had much of a choice, all things considered - their destination clearly the dining room table. 

Thank god for previous tenants, Napoleon thought again, as Illya bent him over it, the hand that had been exploring Napoleon's chest now working at Illya's own fly instead. He'd always hated this table, thinking about replacing it a dozen times over the years, but at least it was as sturdy as anyone might need. Even someone who was thinking about getting fucked on it, which he was certain hadn't been the reason the previous tenant had bought it. 

And also thank god for planning, Napoleon decided, as he heard Illya's pants hit the floor and then felt Illya's fingers sliding in, stretching him a little just as he'd imagined they would. He groaned, almost despite himself, and wondered just what Illya's face looked like right now - damn, he should have bought a mirror, he should have realised Illya wouldn't be able to wait to fuck him and he would have been able to see everything.

Well, there was always next time.


	2. The Mechanic and the Businessman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Gaby gets hers.

She'd seen his type before, the way he was lurking in the doorway told her everything she needed to know. 

"You're blocking the view," Gaby said, "so come in or get lost."

He glanced up at the sign over the door, then clearly made his decision, stepping through and letting the small door close - it was the usual set-up for an auto repair, but the guy was looking around like he'd never been in a place like this before. And given his fancy suit and even fancier glasses, Gaby thought that might be more than possible.

"Are you Teller?" he asked, still looking around. Maybe he thought someone else would pop up, from behind one of the cars the other mechanics had been working on, before she sent them home for the day. Someone who looked more like whatever he thought a mechanic should look like, all beefy arms and ingrained grease. 

"That's what my licence says," she replied, already a little annoyed. It was late, getting on for home time, and all she needed was this sharp-suited wiseass asking her to justify herself. "What can I do for you?"

"Well," he said, "it's my car."

Gaby bit back a laugh and refrained from pointing out that this was an auto repair place and why else would he be here, for the lovely scenery maybe?

"Uh huh," she said, waving her hand to tell him to continue. 

"Well, I'm on my way home from a meeting and the engine keeps cutting out. And I saw your sign so I thought I'd see if someone could have a look at it?" He sounded uncertain and Gaby wondered just how old he was, despite that fancy suit - the glasses were probably to try and make him look older, she realised. "So could they?"

"I'm the only one here, sweetheart," Gaby said, shoving the rag she'd been cleaning her hands with into her overall pocket. "So let me open the doors and you can roll it on in here, I'll see what's what."

As she'd suspected would be the case, it took longer to get the doors open and move the car inside than it did for her to figure out what the problem was - luckily she had some spark plugs the right size and that was that. 

"Come on into the office, we'll settle up," she said, when the job was over. 

He followed her in - he'd been watching, close enough to see what she was doing but not _too_ close and she liked that. Some guys, give them a woman mechanic and they'd want to stand over her, either making sure she knew what was what or giving them a chance to ogle her ass. Both were, in her experience, equally annoying. 

"Here's your bill," she said, after writing for a moment. It was a fair price, that was the way they'd always operated, so he'd have nothing to complain about to anyone. "Tell your friends you got a good deal at Teller Auto Repair."

She'd rattled off the usual words before she realised he was looking a little concerned, going through all of his pockets but apparently without success. He then turned on his heel, went back to the car and began to search inside it. 

"Problem, mister?" Gaby asked, glad she had held onto the keys. He hadn't looked like the type to try and make a run for it, but you never knew - sometimes the best dressed folks you encountered were the most pennypinching and if he didn't live this side of town she'd probably never see him again. 

"I can't find my wallet," he said, finally. It was clear he'd searched the entire car and he was starting to look a little dishevelled in the process, the hair that flicked across his forehead no longer quite so controlled. "I mean, I'm good for it." He seemed to think for a moment. "Maybe you could take my watch as surety, then I can drop the money off tomorrow?"

Gaby laughed. She'd heard everything now. He was starting to look embarrassed and had taken his glasses off; he probably didn't even know what he looked like, those pretty lips sucking on one of the arms and giving Gaby an idea. 

"You're kidding, right?" she asked. "I don't know you from Adam and you want me to trust you?" She looked him up and down, amused by how he reddened even further under her gaze. Maybe there was something he could do for her after all, if that mouth was anything to go by. 

"I know," he said finally, "but I live way across town and I need to get home, so what can I do?"

"Come with me," Gaby said, turning to go back into the office. That seemed an easier place for this, even if the idea of laying him out on one of the cars was more than a little attractive. Her overalls were already down round her waist, the arms tied there as was her custom, exposing the shirt she wore on her upper body. "You can do something for me, then we'll call it even."

Clearing the papers from the office desk, pushing them into a pile, Gaby leaned back against the edge.

"The floor's pretty clean," she said, indicating the space between her outstretched legs. Her hands were busy on the overall, untying its arms and then pushing the material down till it puddled between her boots. "So kneel down and get on with it."

He had paused in the doorway, his face red and eyes wide like he'd never seen a half-naked woman before. Gaby could see his gaze flick between her and the calendar on the wall - Miss July might have better boobs than her but she was flesh and blood, as her debtor would shortly find out. 

"I... well..." 

She caught his gaze, holding his eyes till she was sure he'd do what she wanted. Gaby was starting to get wet, just the idea of this stranger giving her pleasure was enough to get her going. Idly, she wondered if she'd locked the main door when she pulled it closed and thought she had. Hell, so what if she hadn't? This was her place, bought and paid for, and no-one got to judge how she did business.

"C'mon," she said, "time's wasting and we both want to get home."

Those seemed to be the magic words - he moved from the doorway, pulling a large white handkerchief from his trouser pocket and laying it on the ground between her feet. Somewhere for his knees to go, she realised, to keep that lovely suit as clean as it had started the day. 

"I don't," he said. His face was a lovely shade of red now, his breath coming fast. "I mean, I haven't..."

"You'll get the hang of it soon enough," Gaby said. "You can start by putting your mouth on me." 

She got a handful of his hair and tugged, but gently so he wouldn't balk at the idea. He was close enough, at least, and the desk was just the right height for her to lean back a little and feel the warmth of his breath through the thin cotton of her pants. The first lick was tentative, as she'd expected, but she curled her fingers into his hair, holding him in place. She was wet, but not quite wet enough to have soaked all the way through the material, not yet at least; he'd know she was aroused by this, that this was what she wanted more than anything else right this moment. 

His tongue was insistent but untutored, probing along the crease between her thigh and her groin, even as she tried to direct him wordlessly, her hand pushing his head where she needed it to go. There, finally, right there. Her eyes closed, the sensation of his tongue overwhelming her for the briefest of moments, that was it, right there.

Pressure against her hand as he leaned back slightly, breathing hard. His glasses had misted up, which made Gaby smirk, and she plucked them from his face with her free hand, dropping them carelessly on the desk. 

"Get on with it," she said, hearing the way her voice cracked a little. "You owe me, remember?"

He didn't reply, just let her guide him back between her legs, sucking a little now at the fabric of her pants and then slipping his tongue beneath them. It was too brief a sensation, far too brief, and she groaned her disappointment. 

"I could," he began, and she knew what he was asking. He hadn't used his hands till then, just his tongue, and he was asking her for permission, as though he didn't quite have the words to express what he wanted to do. 

"Yes." 

Gaby heard how the word grated from her lips, canting her hips slightly forward as he pulled at her pants, slipping them down to her thighs. Blessing the fact she hadn't tied her bootlaces, Gaby stepped out of one of her boots, letting her overalls drop and stepping out of her pants as they dropped too - this had an added advantage, that she could now curl her leg over his shoulder if she wanted. Which she did, as he slipped a careful finger inside her - she was getting wetter, the combination of that finger and his mouth making her groan beneath his attentions. 

There was no uncertainty about his actions now, none at all - all pretence he hadn't known what he was doing was clearly a thing of the past as he made Gaby moan even louder, fingers and mouth moving together to coax every sound he could from her mouth. Her fingers tightened in his hair, even as he chased her climax.

"Owww," he said, and she let go. 

"Sorry, Napoleon," Gaby said, when a moment had passed and she had caught her breath. She could feel his fingers inside her, the way her body was clenching around them, but the urgency had abated a little. "Too much?"

"Just a little," Napoleon said, then smirked up at her before returning all of his attentions to his previous task, to Gaby's great delight.


	3. The Professor and his Assistant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All things being equal, some people seem to be enjoying this more than others...

He didn't want to ask how Solo had managed to get them access to the faculty offices in a small university, even if it was the middle of the night. Since he'd also been able to find himself and Gaby an auto repair place to 'borrow' for a couple of hours, with very little difficulty, Illya assumed that the right hands had been greased and somewhere a janitor was looking the other way and counting some bills, possibly at the same time. He also didn't ask about the source for the jacket he was wearing, heavy tweed complete with elbow patches as befitted the role he was playing in this particular scenario, or the thick-rimmed glasses (complete with clear lenses, fortunately) that completed the ensemble.

The door to the office he'd been told was temporarily his was closed, as he'd expected, and it also stuck a little. It was thick enough that Illya couldn't tell if he was alone till it opened and Gaby was there, with her back to him, shelving books as if she hadn't heard him shove the door open loudly enough for anyone in the building to hear. She was also shelving the books in question upside down, Illya realised, closing the door behind him.

"Oh!" Gaby said, turning quickly - a little too quickly for the contents of the shelf, some of which she caught with her elbow as she spun around. A couple of books and a small vase crashed to the ground, the vase shattering on impact. "Professor, you startled me!"

It took a moment for Illya to realise what it was about Gaby that made him pause for a moment, trying to remember his role and what he was supposed to do next. She looked as if she was about to cry, eyes wide and brimming with unshed tears, glancing down at the broken vase and then up at him as if expecting anger. It's just a game, Illya reminded himself, pushing down his automatic response to seeing her upset; he was doing this for Gaby, giving her something she wanted even if he didn't quite understand what she and Solo got out of it. 

"Miss Teller." He managed to make the words sound stern, disappointed even, and was almost impressed by the way Gaby's lip seemed to wobble, as if she was almost on the verge of bursting into tears after all. "Clean that up," he continued, shaking his head and crossing over to the desk. 

As he sat, watching Gaby scurry to find a brush and dustpan, he wondered just what it was that made these kind of games so exciting for the two of them. It seemed a little childish but he worried that there was something more to it than just a desire to try out something new - was there more to this love of experimentation than he realised? Not that he'd objected when he'd found Solo cooking for him, dressed in nothing but his apron, that had been an experience he was certain they had both enjoyed. Even now he couldn't look at the dining room table without thinking of Solo bent over it, which made mealtimes a little tricky. 

By the bookcase, Gaby was bending over to clean up the mess she'd made; she was also, courtesy of the dress she was wearing, making sure he got a good look at her knickers while she did so. At least she'd bothered to wear some, Illya thought, which he hadn't been able to be sure would be the case. 

"I'm sorry about that, Professor," Gaby said, depositing the broken vase into the waste basket. 

"Is just the latest in long line of problems, Miss Teller," Illya said, sitting back in his chair and studying Gaby as if scrutinising her performance. He'd seen Waverly do this so often, as well as others from his succession of handlers and commanding officers, but he hadn't seen anyone squirm quite as prettily as Gaby was doing now. She'd only been able to meet his eyes for a moment, then seemed fascinated by the carpet, teeth worrying her bottom lip till her mouth was all he could look at. "When you take job as my assistant, you tell me you know what you are doing. Is very disappointing." 

"Please don't fire me, Professor," Gaby said, looking up at him once more. "I know you're angry, but maybe you could do something else, to teach me to do better?"

As she spoke, Gaby rounded the desk till she was leaning on it, not far from where Illya sat - she was still chewing on her lip, as if she'd realised the effect that gesture had on him, which she probably had. She'd learned a lot about him, Illya realised, during the months they had been together, both working and sleeping, and the same was true the other way around. If it hadn't been, he would never have agreed to any of this, but he knew it was what Gaby wanted and it seemed he was powerless to resist giving her what she wanted. 

"Maybe I put you over my knee," he said, slowly. 

"Well," she said, inching even closer till she was standing right next to him, "I have been a very bad girl."

Those were the words they'd agreed on, the words that would tell Illya this was still just a game and that Gaby was very much wanting this to continue. He'd wondered if his insistence on this had been too much, if the reassurance he needed was something that took her out of the game she enjoyed, but she'd been clear that wasn't the case. 

"Yes," he said, spreading his legs. "You have." Rather than put her over his knee, he'd already decided she would do the work - an imperious gesture made her take a half-step forward, then pause as if reluctant to go through with it all, before she bent forward, laying herself out across his lap. "Good girl," he said, resting his hand on the small of her back in what he hoped was a reassuring gesture. He winced, as Gaby pinched his other knee with her free hand. 

"I think five is good number," Illya said, running his hand across Gaby's buttocks and then down to rest on her thigh for a moment. "But dress must go." He flicked the material up with a swift gesture, till it was puddling round her waist, a strip of skin revealed above the white knickers he'd seen earlier. "These too," he continued, fingers insinuating themselves under the waist of the knickers and pulling them down till they rested across the top of her thighs. 

"If you think so, Professor," Gaby said, though her tone was anything but demure and girlish. The words 'then get on with it' seemed to be tacked onto the end of that sentence and she moved restlessly on his lap, her elbow pressing for a moment against Illya's growing erection. 

"Lie still," he said, fingers curving around one of Gaby's buttocks, the tips of them dipping down into the cleft between as if by accident. She hissed a breath, parting her legs a little though their movement was curtailed by the material of her knickers. "Now, we start."

The first blow was followed by a bitten-off whimper, though Illya knew he hadn't struck her that hard - he was more than conscious of his own strength, the damage he could do if he wasn't careful enough, and Gaby's skin was just a little pink where he'd hit. The second had her squirming a little more, another 'accidental' brush from her arm against the cloth that covered Illya's erection, but no sound this time. Another strike, this time where her thigh met the curve of her buttock and the sound produced was more of a moan. Four and five were in quick succession, as this wasn't quite as much fun for him as seemed to be the case for Gaby and Illya found he needed to see her face, gauge her reaction to getting what she'd asked for. 

"Oh, Professor," she said, after a moment to catch her breath. Gaby's hands were strong on Illya's thigh, pushing herself upright as she straightened her dress and pushed her hair back from her face. "I'm sure I've learned my lesson." 

She was leaning back against the desk, eyes bright and now scrutinising him much as he had looked her up and down earlier; Illya found the experience just as uncomfortable from the receiving end, wondering just what she had planned. They hadn't talked about what would happen afterwards, just what they'd done so far and nothing more. 

That had been enough; Illya remembered the way his face had flamed with embarrassment, as much because Solo had been there too, chipping in suggestions of just how things ought to go. His erection didn't help matters, pressing insistently against the fly of his trousers, and he stared down at it as if he'd never seen it before. Maybe his enjoyment was secondary here, the important thing was to make sure Solo and Gaby got what they wanted, maybe then they'd be happy for him to be part of whatever this was. 

"Illya?" Gaby was leaning forward, her expression a little worried now rather than the caricature it had been just moments earlier. "Say something."

"Was that what you wanted?" he asked; Gaby didn't relax at his question, though she nodded. She was still studying him and it made him want to squirm like she had. "We can go."

"I think you're forgetting something," she said. Gaby's hand slipped under the hem of her dress, pulling at her knickers till they slid down her thighs and she stepped out of them. "Unless you want to walk around like that," she continued, pushing his knees together and then settling herself down on them, legs either side of his. "Which would be quite uncomfortable, I'd guess."

"You don't have to..." Illya began, as Gaby's hands were busy at his fly, freeing his erection from the material that had imprisoned it. His knuckles were white on the arms of the chair, the grip of one loosening as Gaby insinuated her fingers under his palm and guided his hand between her legs.

"You started this," she said, as his fingers slipped through the wetness he found there, then curling into her and making her words a little unsteady. "Now you need to finish the job, comrade." Her other hand was wrapped around him, strong fingers working his erection till he was as hard as he could ever recall being. "Unless you think you're the only one who gets to teach the lessons round here."


	4. Bespoke Engineering for Dummies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sheer unadulterated porn without any redeeming qualities whatsoever - OT3

She'd been up to something for weeks. That was all they knew about Gaby, about what she'd been doing in the workshop she'd created from the spare bedroom in her apartment - the one she never let either of them into, never giving them the opportunity to figure out exactly what she was doing. Something mechanical, probably, given that she often had grease under her fingernails, but there was also that mysterious delivery Napoleon had signed for when Gaby had been in the shower. The one she'd taken from him as he was shaking it to try and determine its contents, only moments away from letting his curiosity overtake him and opening it to find out for certain.

It had seemed likely to remain a mystery, though; short of outright asking her, they both knew Gaby would only tell them what she was doing when *she* was ready and not a moment before.

The night they found out, Napoleon and Illya had found themselves arriving at her apartment around the same time, meeting on the steps into the building and walking upstairs together. They'd also heard odd sounds coming from inside the apartment, through the door that remained closed despite their knocking. Gaby had known they were coming over and what time, so it wasn't like her not to be all but waiting for them to arrive; a worried look was exchanged between the two of them and then Napoleon was picking the lock without thinking twice about it.

It was a good lock - Napoleon had installed it himself when Gaby moved in and he'd seen the quality of its predecessor - but it still didn't stop him from getting into the apartment in a matter of seconds.

When the door opened, the sounds were both louder and clearly coming from Gaby's bedroom. There was no mistaking them for what they were, what activity was taking place to generate them, so the only question was who exactly was in there with her? Illya's frown told Napoleon everything he needed to know about the Russian's view on the situation, though he still couldn't quite believe it either. Napoleon had thought they were happy together, that theirs was an unconventional arrangement, perhaps, but one that seemed to work for all of them. Or at least that had been the impression Gaby had given them...

"Oh, god," Gaby said, her voice almost unrecognisable as it shook and wavered. There was an odd noise underlying it, a throbbing mechanical sound Napoleon didn't recognise.

"I will kill them," Illya muttered; he began to pull out his gun, but Napoleon's hand on his arm was enough to make him stop midway through that movement. Napoleon shook his head, though if anything he had to admit he felt disappointed too - or would betrayed be a better word to describe it? - this feeling wasn't a new one but that didn't make it any more welcome.

"Ahhh, ahhh!" Her voice was higher now, sharper. "No, please."

It was that plea that galvanised both of them, making them move for the bedroom door when before neither had really wanted to see what they would find on the other side.

"What the hell?" Napoleon said, when the door opened.

"Ohh, oh god." Gaby's head turned towards them - her face was flushed, her eyes bright with unshed tears.

Both of them had stopped just inside the doorway. Gaby was alone, that much was immediately obvious - the mechanical noise was louder now, a rhythmic thrumming noise that rumbled through the floorboards and emanated from a small metal box. A metal box from which extended an arm, on the end of which was a dildo. At least, that was Napoleon's assumption, given he could only see a small part of it, when it wasn't pressing into Gaby, driving deep into her relentlessly even as she writhed and struggled. Somehow, it seemed, she'd managed to strap herself down in such a way that she was unable to get out of her current predicament without help. A cord snaked from the device round to the side of where Gaby lay, the control just out of her reach.

"Having fun?" Napoleon asked, though he was certain Gaby could have passed that point a while back. He wondered how many orgasms the machine had fucked out of her, how sensitive she was now, how wet? "Here, let me get that."

A couple of steps and he had the control, avoiding Gaby's outstretched hand and studying it himself - it wasn't just a simple on-off switch, there was a dial on it and it had been turned to its highest setting.

"Please!" Gaby's voice broke, another orgasm making her shudder.

"Help her, Peril," Napoleon said, turning the dial right down till it clicked off. "I assume you didn't plan to need rescuing?" he continued, as Illya attended to the straps. "Or were you just waiting for us to get here?" It was a possibility, since she'd known they were both due to arrive shortly and she'd got herself in this mess anyway.

Napoleon coiled up the cord, dropping it in a careful pile by the machine as he watched Illya undo the buckles, one of which had jammed and caused all this difficulty in the first place. Taking hold of the machine at its corners, Napoleon carefully slid it back a little, wincing in sympathy as Gaby gasped when the dildo slipped from her, slick with her juices. It was a sizeable one, probably what had been in that mystery package Gaby had been so keen he didn't open.

She was sitting upright now, and on Illya's lap, his arms wrapped around her as she tried to catch her breath. Her face was still red and she didn't seem to want to look either of them in the eye.

"I can't believe you started without us," Napoleon said, dropping to his haunches in front of her, hands resting on her thighs. "Though I can't fault it as a floorshow." She scowled, even as his hands moved upwards, parting her legs and letting him feel how wet, how swollen she was; any words she might have spoken stopped when his fingers slipped into her, a groan escaping her mouth as she dropped her head back on Illya's shoulder. "She's so wet," he said to Illya, as if Gaby wasn't even there, "and you saw what she was doing. Without us."

"Greedy," Illya replied, "and not necessary. If she is wanting cock, she has us. Both of us." He glanced at the machine, his expression disdainful. "No need to make."

"A girl needs a hobby," Gaby said, reaching out and grabbing hold of Napoleon's jacket even as Illya's arms tightened further, preventing her from getting up. She pulled Napoleon forward till their mouths met, a kiss just as relentless as the machine she had been using only moments earlier. "And you're not always here," she continued, her other hand slipping behind her back to start on Illya's fly. She had nimble fingers, Napoleon reminded himself; strong too, her grip on his jacket was unrelenting. "Then there's the stamina issue..."

"Pah," Illya said, relaxing his embrace a little so Gaby could shift forward and let his erection out of his pants. It pressed against her, nestling nicely between her buttocks as she shifted on his lap. "Stamina."

"Don't tell me you're not curious," Gaby said, nodding towards the machine. "About what it's like."

She was perceptive, which was always a problem. And she was also right, he was curious about what it would be like, what the experience had been like for her.

"I'm curious about _something_ ," Napoleon admitted, his thumb flicking against her clit as his fingers slid out of her. "Did you set this all up for our benefit, or yours?" He put his fingers to his mouth, thoughtfully sucking her juices from them as he considered the picture the other two made and how Gaby might have thought this would go.

Illya was embracing her with one arm now, his other hand slipping between his stomach and Gaby's back to work his cock, even as he seemed to consider Napoleon's words.

"She is clever, this one," he said. "But maybe she outsmart herself this time, bite off more than she can chew." He lifted Gaby her a little, pulling her back against his chest until she was no longer on his lap but above it. "Maybe we give her more to think about."

"Let me help you with that," Napoleon said, seeing what Illya was doing. He leaned forward, fingers curling around Illya's erection and steering it slightly, angling it till the head was at the entrance to Gaby's cunt. "There we go," he said, as Illya lowered her onto his cock, in one slow but sure movement.

"Ohhh," she moaned, as she settled onto his lap once more. "Oh, god."

"Tell me is better than machine," Illya said, spreading his legs a little so she moved on his lap, but only as he wanted her to. "We give greedy girl all cock she need."

"No, not better," Gaby said, though Napoleon was a little surprised she could even put coherent throughts together. He was also imagining what it would be like to be on the receiving end of Illya's cock now, after getting a pounding from that machine, and found his own erection getting even harder. "Unless you fuck me," she continued, starting to move, struggling a little against Illya's restraining arm as if she wanted to ride him properly, to grind out yet another orgasm.

If there was a competition for stamina going on around here, it looked like a possible gold medal for the East German competitor.

"You heard the lady," Napoleon said, even as he wished himself in Illya's place. Still, the night was young and there were plenty of other things he could be doing; though a lot of them involved significantly less clothes than both he and Illya were wearing right now. "I think she'll start to get impatient if you don't give her what she needs."

"Pah," Illya said, again. "Help me."

Illya stood, unbuttoned trousers falling to puddle at his ankles, and he stepped out of them; the change of position drove his cock deeper into Gaby, making her writhe, trying again to lift herself, to dictate the pace of what was happening, but in vain. Illya wasn't wearing any pants, so that wasn't a problem that needed overcoming, and he was able to toe off his shoes without assitance, so Napoleon concentrated on freeing him from his jacket, one arm at a time. His shirt took a little more doing, too many buttons for Napoleon's liking, but after a little concentration on his part it was removed.

"Hold on a second," Napoleon said, following suit and removing his clothes as quickly as he could given that all he wanted to do right now was have sex with both of them.

He sat on the bed, shuffling so his back was against the headboard and his legs open a little; Illya knelt, then walked on his knees till Gaby was pressed between them, facing Napoleon, then he let her go. Her knees fell to the outside of Napoleon's thighs, which held her open, but even as she opened her mouth to protest the movement, Illya's hands fell to her hips and he fucked into her properly, her breath chuffing out as her eyes closed at the sensation.

"Better than machine," Illya said again, the words coming between thrusts, the rhythm of them almost as relentless as the device Gaby had invented. She was panting now, the only sounds coming from her mouth one unintelligible stream. When she came again, shuddering around Illya's cock this time, the moan was muffled against Napoleon's chest, Illya stilling his thrusts as she orgasmed. "Kiss me," he said, grinning at Napoleon. "That is something machine cannot do."

Leaning forward, Gaby still wrapped around him, Napoleon obliged, fingers gripping Illya's head tightly, tongue fucking Illya's mouth even as he imagined being behind the Russian, driving into him over and over. Or that could be something they tried another time; next time, maybe he'd be the one who drew the highest card and got to be the one on the receiving end of everything, fucking machine and all.


End file.
